


It's about me and you and no-one else

by evakuality



Series: Let's talk about it [6]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Canon Compliant, Discussions of Homophobia, M/M, Missing Scene, discussions of panphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 09:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evakuality/pseuds/evakuality
Summary: Isak and Even discuss sexuality, among other things.Based on the tumblr prompt: I always would have liked to see Isak and Even talk about their sexual orientation, especially regarding Even being pansexual. As a bi girl myself I find these conversations rather difficult to have with a partner because they can sometimes get jealous or insecure.





	It's about me and you and no-one else

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to arindwell who beta read this for me, and to Camilla who is the best Norwegian guru a person could ever want.
> 
> Takes place sometime between new year and the time they move in together.

“Even?” Isak asks idly one day.  His fingers are twirling in Even’s hair, making him hum in contentment.  They’re lying together, snuggled and reveling in the sort of cuddling they can only do on weekends.  Long, drifting hours where they can just  _ be _ and not have to worry about the rest of the world. 

“Mmmm?” Even says, enjoying the feeling of being curled up against Isak’s body, head on his shoulder and arm propped on his chest.

“You’re … not gay, right?”

Even’s body tenses, and his breath is sucked out of him.  All the languorous peace of the day shatters as if it had never been and the world which has been held at bay thrusts its way in.  Even’s had this conversation a few times in his life and it’s always been … well, not much fun. Sonja had probably reacted the best, her eyes just creasing into a frown as if she didn’t get what he was trying to say.  In hindsight, she probably didn’t. But she was good about it anyway, eventually nodding and saying she loved  _ him _ not his sexuality.  It had been nice. 

Too many other people had been outraged or horrified.  Or pitying, or (in some ways the worst of them all) disbelieving.  It’s not a conversation Even’s been particularly excited to have with Isak.  He knows about Sonja, knows that Even is therefore attracted to more than just guys, and that’s all that really matters.  But it seems like they’re here now and he has to face it, hard as that may be.

“I’m not, no,” Even finally manages to get out.  Isak’s fingers are still light in his hair and his voice is still dreamy, contemplative when he speaks again, so Even allows himself to breath out.  His reluctance to do this hasn’t made its way to Isak yet. That makes this fractionally easier.

“The boys were arguing one day,” Isak says, his fingers still scratching soothing patterns in Even’s hair.  “When I came out to them. Was I gay, was I pansexual, was I bi.” He laughs, softly. “They didn’t ask me, just argued between themselves.  But if they did I don’t think I’d have known what to say.” He shuffles a little, leaning his head up off the pillow so he can look down into Even’s face.  “You know what I mean?”

“No,” Even says, keeping his eyes firmly on Isak’s.  He refuses to put himself in a position where he might have to see any shifting in expression on Isak’s lips or loss of color in his face.  “No. I always knew I was pan. Not that I had a word for it. It just was.” There’s no change in expression from Isak, no sad accusation in his eyes, and Even allows himself another tiny breath out.  It’s okay. For now.

“Huh,” Isak says as he slumps back down onto the pillow, his fingers stilling, a loss that Even regrets almost as much as the loss of warmth from his body where it’s moved slightly away from Even’s.  “I was so confused.”

Even lets himself smile now.  “That’s pretty normal,” he says.  “Particularly if your friends were arguing about it.”

Isak snorts and his fingers find their way back into Even’s hair.  He lets his eyes drift closed and smiles. This has always been a feeling he loves; Isak’s fingers, his hair and the peace and comfort they give him.

“It pissed me off, if I’m being honest.”  Isak’s voice is still warm, a laugh hiding behind the words.  He’s not  _ there _ yet, then.  Not at the point where he’s going to insinuate things about Even that aren’t true but could be perceived so.  It’s only a matter of time, though. It always happens, when Even has this conversation. He shifts, bracing himself for the way it’s going to hurt this time.

It’s coming.  Even can’t put it off, so the next best thing is to lean into it, act as if he’s the one who’s in control of where this is going.  So he prods at the ideas Isak’s playing with, like a tongue on a sore tooth. Drawn to it even while it aches.

“What pissed you off?”

“‘What the fuck?  Are you gay?’” Isak’s voice mimics, and Even can hear Magnus so clearly he laughs, startled.  But the laugh is cut off abruptly when Isak speaks again; his voice has shifted to bitter and aggrieved.  “It’s … I don’t know. It’s weird making people choose, isn’t it?”

“Depends.”  Even moves again so he can look at Isak.  it’s all too much now and he has to see that face, watch the expressions flicker over it as Isak chases after whatever it is he wants to say right now.  The eyes that are fixed on his are sad and worried, so Even smiles, tries to ease the unsettled atmosphere that has landed on the bed. “On what people want you to choose and why they want it.”

“It’s  _ my _ sexuality,” Isak says fiercely, and then it’s all tumbling out as if he’s kept it in for so long that it’s overflowing without his conscious permission.  “And they … it’s been like this for so long. ‘You only know gay songs, I’ll stay with the gay guy, is it because you’re gay?’ and on and on. They made assumptions, and then when I told them, they acted like who I am was theirs to play with.  Not mine.” He sighs, the sound unhappy in the still of the room. “I guess I hoped you’d had some shit too.”

Even stills, his breath punched out of him.  It’s not that Isak means to be shitty but that comment stabs all the same.    “Just because I always knew doesn’t mean I didn’t get shit, baby,” he says gently.  

“Sorry.”  Isak flushes as he realizes what he’s said.  “I didn’t mean … I mean.” He takes a breath.  “I don’t even know what I mean. It’s just been really shit, and it hurt.”  He’s silent for a few moments. “It hurt that it was Jonas.”

“Yeah,” Even agrees softly.  “It does hurt when it’s your friends.  Your best friends.”

Mikael.  The kiss.  The aftermath.  All things he can’t tell Isak about yet.  All things that still send painful memories to Even in the darkest times at the darkest hours.

He turns, wriggles so that he can lie facing Isak, watches as Isak’s body mirrors his.  It tugs a tiny smile onto his lips. It’s still so new, this knowledge that they’re attuned to each other in this way.  That they will unconsciously follow each other’s movements.

He reaches out, lets his fingers run along the ridges of Isak’s brow.  Watches in fascination as his eyes slip closed and his own small smile blooms at the corner of his lips.

“It might be different,” Even says, his voice as quiet as he can make it.  Like this is a treasure he’s offering up to Isak and it needs silence and reverence.  In a way that’s true. These feelings that Even has bottled for so long … they feel like they are so fragile and delicate that a harsher tone could destroy them, and Even alongside them.  “It might be different,” he repeats. “But I’ve had my stuff too.”

Isak’s eyes fly open and his green eyes look at Even in consternation.  “Your … stuff?” 

It reminds Even so forcefully of the first weekend they spent together, snuggled up on Isak’s bed in their own little bubble, when Even said he sometimes forgot just how young Isak is.  That idea is back in force. Despite his maturity in so many ways, Isak’s young and naive in so many others. Innocent about so much of what can happen, of the things that can be said; tied up in his own affairs in a lot of ways.  He’d so clearly been unaware that people’s shittiness can be parceled up in so many different ways, that Even could have experienced something Isak hasn’t.

“Yeah,” Even says on a mirthless laugh.  “Being pan, it’s … well, there are things that people say and suggest that are hard to stomach.  That I’m fickle. That I can’t choose one gender. That I cheat all the time.”

“Oh.”

Isak lies there for a while, thinking.  His fingers move. Stutter. Slip in and out of patterns in Even’s hair, the jolting movements betraying the whirl of his mind.  His eyes are far away and Even can almost see the thoughts as they move in and out of his brain, circling each other in a play for dominance.

“Sonja, she said some stuff that night,” Isak says finally as he sucks in a breath, his eyes flicker to Even and away again.  He sighs. “You know the night?”

“Yeah.  I think I do.”

The one when Even was manic.  The one that’s still seared into Isak’s memory; it’s so obvious in every twist of his lips when he thinks of it.

“She … she said you didn’t really love me.  That I was a sick idea.”

“You believed her.”

Even’s voice is flat and unemotional; he can hear the way he’s shutting down now because he wants to avoid all this.  He doesn’t want to hear Isak admit to believing her, even though he can hear it in the tone of his voice and the quiver sitting around his words.

“I didn’t,” Isak says, shaking his head, even though Even clearly remembers the text he’d sent after that night, when Even was still manic and nothing made any sense for either of them.  “At least … I don’t think I did. But it’s like you said … she knows you so well and this,” Isak indicates the space between them with a small wave of his hand, “was all so new. What she said seemed … plausible.”

Even shakes his head.  “It wasn’t. It’s not. I do love you, and … even if it may have seemed like it, I don’t ...”  He stops and stares at Isak, beseechingly. “I’m not a cheater and I never lied about any of this.”

“I know,” Isak says softly, and Even’s grateful that Isak has picked up on what he means by ‘cheater’ because Even  _ did _ cheat.  For a few brief hours, he was with Isak and Sonja at the same time. And it’s sometimes hard to clarify, for himself, why it then hurts to hear himself labeled in such an ugly way.  Because it meant something and Even navigated it as well as he could, broke up with Sonja as soon as he could. He refuses to be a stereotype, even if some people keep trying to make him one.

As if he can hear Even’s thoughts, Isak lets his fingers brush over Even’s face, follows the contours of his nose and lips.  Grounds him, stops the unhappy self-flagellation. “I knew it then really,” Isak continues. “I just couldn’t let myself truly believe it.  I couldn’t believe someone like you could really want someone like me.” He smiles, bleakly. “I half believed her because I didn’t think this could be true.”

Isak falls silent, his eyes taking on that faraway look again as his fingers find their spot in Even’s hair once more.  His face is a mask, for once not open to Even as he contemplates that day, that time. It’s hard to wait it out, to see where this is all going.

“I don’t think she ever really believed me when I told her I’m pan,” Even says after a few moments when the silence becomes unbearable and he has to speak to make the world work again.  To make his brain stop presenting all the worst possible interpretations of this moment to him. To stop the seemingly inevitable moment when Isak will throw the stereotype at him because everyone does.  “I … there was a time when I was manic and I kissed a friend. A guy. And she always thought that was … I don’t know. A symptom maybe? She never believed I could really like him.” 

Even shrugs, traces his fingers along the strong lines of Isak’s face.  It helps, soothes a little to have this contact while he’s saying these things and Even thinks he understands why Isak had done the same thing.  It reminds Even that all that stuff … it’s all in the past and that this, here and now, is not the same. Isak is not Sonja; he has his own thoughts and feelings and ideas.  Even closes his eyes briefly in memory. “I think she decided that  _ you _ were the same.  That it was my illness and not my sexuality.”

“It’s not.”  Isak’s voice is firm, confident.  There’s no question there. He knows, and Isak’s surety makes Even smile.  It eases something that has been sitting tense in his chest. Isak  _ knows; _ he’s not going to say the things Even’s heard so often because he knows.  It’s a blessing, one Even’s not sure he deserves.

“Thank you, baby,” Even whispers.  

“For what?”

“For not believing the stuff so many people do about us … about me.”

Isak’s fingers are firmer in Even’s hair now, the soft brushes becoming caresses with intent and purpose.  His eyes are fierce when he looks at Even as if he’ll fight Even himself if he needs to.

“Fuck them,” he says.  “You and me, we’re the ones who get to define this.  It’s my sexuality and yours and no-one else’s.” He smiles, intense again.  “I don’t give a shit what they say. I know you, and you know me. So. Fuck them.”

Even chuckles.  This boy is so forceful sometimes, so filled with fiery purpose.  “Fuck them,” he echoes. 

Isak’s eyes shift again, taking on the impossible fondness they always have when they’re together.  It settles something in Even and he can feel the smile blossoming on his own face again. Isak’s face softens and he reaches out to Even, his finger gentle on his mouth.

“Ours, and no-one else’s,” he says again and then leans forward to kiss Even.  

Even sinks into it, kisses back.  The lingering worries are gone. In that moment, it all comes clear.  This is all that matters. Even. Isak. And what sits between them. What people think, what they say, insinuations they make about either of them … none of that is important.  He kisses Isak again. And again. Blotting out the feared assumptions with this glorious truth.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry if I don't respond to any comments immediately. My city was involved in a horrific event yesterday, I spent hours in lock down, and I'm still trying to process it. That means I don't really have the energy or ability rn to make considered responses. I will get around to answering all comments, I promise, and in the meantime please know I am reading and appreciating every one of you <3


End file.
